


Fluff

by coffeeandconspiracies



Category: Gravity Falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:59:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5371103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandconspiracies/pseuds/coffeeandconspiracies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: Could u write some stanford-stanley fluff?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fluff

* * *

 

Filbrick Pines was not a man one might describe as a “caring father”. When two sons were presented to him in the stead of one, some small part of him concluded that the only solution would be to split his love for one child - however little of it detectable in the first place - between the two. Filbrick Pines  _did_ love his sons, of course, but just like his own father before him, he loved himself more. 

This hardly evident love prompted him to build for his boys a set of bunk beds with his own two hands, out of nice sturdy wood that would last them their childhood. What he failed to take into account was, of course, one of his son’s fear of heights. 

“You’ll flip a coin for the top bunk,” he told them, when that night they lined up side-by-side in front of his chair. There had been a time when they’d each take a knee, and he would rock them for a moment - and a moment only - before sending them off to bed with their mother. At the age of 6 they were much too big for that nonsense now, and Filbrick wouldn’t entertain it a moment longer. 

From his sons he received two blank stares. Stanley began to fidget nervously. 

“Daddy …” Stanford began hesitantly.

“Dad,” Filbrick corrected. 

“D-Dad,” Ford tried again. “I think that maybe I should take the top bunk.”

Misreading his son’s selflessness for the exact opposite, Filbrick’s narrowed his eyebrows. “Now, Stanford, that wouldn’t be fair. If there is one rule we will always uphold in this house, it’s fairness.”

Somewhere in the distance, his wife snorted. 

“Now, Stanley, heads or tails?”

“Tails,” Stan declared confidently, assured by the false faith all small children have that in a coin toss, the winner is always  _heads._

Filbrick flicked the coin up into the air and caught it in his palm. Allowing a moment for suspense to rise, he flipped it over to the back of his other hand, and read the verdict aloud. “Tails.”

Stan stiffened. “Uh, n-no that’s okay! Ford can have the top bunk, really, I–”

“Stanley, you won the coin toss, you’ll sleep on the top bunk.”

Their mother appeared in the doorway, wine glass in hand. “Fil, I think what he’s trying to tell you is–”

“ _Stanley sleeps on the top bunk.”_ Filbrick said, and it was final. 

Sighing, their mother put down her drink and took each of her sons by the hand, leading them off to bed. 

“Mommy,” Ford said anxiously. “I don’t think it’s a very good idea to–”

“I-it’s okay,” Stan interrupted. “I can do it.”

Their mother, who had been planning on swapping the two of them without her husbands knowledge, looked down Stan. “Sweetie, are you sure?”

“Mhmm,” Stan hummed with an unconvincing nod. 

Ford tried to meet his eyes, but Stan wouldn’t face him. They both knew how Stan felt about heights. He wouldn’t even climb rocks with Ford at the beach, and that was saying something. Everywhere else Ford went, Stan was more than willing to follow. 

Filbrick had also neglected to build a ladder which attached the top bunk to the floor, meaning their mother had to lift Stan up over her head and boost him by the butt. The ceilings in their house were high, and Filbrick had made the bunk beds just as long to compensate. 

“Mommy,” Ford tried again, seeing the fear on his brother’s face after their mother let him go. 

“It’s fine, Stanford!” Stan insisted stubbornly. 

Their mother gave Ford a sad smile and tucked him into his own bed on the bottom. 

“Goodnight,” their mother said in the doorway.

“Goodnight,” the boys echoed.

“Sleep tight.”

“Sleep tight.”

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite!”

The boys giggled, just like they always did, and their mother flicked off the lights.

Time passed slowly for small children in the dark, and Ford felt like he stared up at the bottom of Stan’s bed for hours, waiting. Eventually he began to suspect that despite his fears, Stan had actually managed to fall asleep up there by himself. Then he heard the tiniest whimper.

It wasn’t something he was  _supposed_ to hear, he knew that. Stan probably suspected, just as Ford had, that his brother was already asleep. And with that thought, he had allowed himself to shed the tears he’d been holding in since the living room, when the cruel hand of fate had dictated that the coin land on tails. 

Ford was left with a decision to make. To remain tucked in nice and warm and ignore the cries of his brother above, or to abandon the safety of his sheets (everyone knows monsters can’t get you as long as you remain undisturbed in your the position your mother tucked you into) and go comfort his twin. The choice was obvious.

Up alone in his own personal hell, Stan’s sorrows were temporarily paused at the sound of rustling from below. He was too scared to make a sound, but the power of childhood curiosity told him what he must do - he had to peer over the edge of the bed. 

Slowly, summoning all the courage he could muster, Stan rolled himself over so he was no longed pinned against the wall, propped himself up on his elbows, and leaned over the edge–

“Hey!” Ford’s head popped up in front of Stan.

“Eek!” Stan yelped, falling back towards the wall. 

Ford laughed and swung his leg over the edge of Stan’s mattress, pulling himself up next to his brother. 

“Are you crazy?!” Stan hissed. “You’re gonna kill yourself!”

“I’m fine,” Ford promised, laying down. 

“Daddy isn’t gonna like it if you sleep up here with me.”

Ford looked his brother dead in the eye. “So?”

The next morning at breakfast, Ford jumped down off the top bunk before their mother came to retrieve Stanley. Unbeknownst to the twins, she had checked in on them around midnight and seen what Ford had done. She only smiled at Ford as he sat up in his own bunk, trying to make it seem as if he had slept there all night. 

“Stanley,” she said, placing him on the floor. “Your father would like to talk with you.”

Gulping, Stan walked off towards the kitchen. Ford gave his mother a scared look, but she only winked at him.

Out in the kitchen, Filbrick Pines was being forced to swallow his pride - something that did not come easily to him. “Stan,” he began, when his son entered the room. “Your mother has informed me that you would … prefer … to be on the bottom bunk.” He cleared his throat. He’d argued the night before with his wife that Stan’s fear made him having the top bunk all the better - it would teach him to get over it. Stupid fears were for wussies, anyway. Then she had threatened to make him sleep on the couch for as long as Stanley was forced to sleep on the top bunk, and he surrendered. 

Stan’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Filbrick nodded. “So, starting tonight … You may … do that.”

Stan jumped forward and wrapped his tiny arms around his father’s neck. “Thank you, Daddy!”

He had run off to tell his brother the good news before Filbrick could register the hug, or reprimand him for it. 


End file.
